SOLITARY CONFINEMENT
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: SPOILERS for Season 9. It's never really been a special day, right? It's just another day on the calendar but Dean "celebrates" anyway. (I couldn't let the day go by without writing something recognizing Dean Winchester's birthday.)


Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester!

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Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's masterpiece.

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**SOLITARY CONFINEMENT**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

Dean Winchester fought back a yawn as he stepped up to the counter of CoffeeMax, a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop he'd found in the center of Nowheretown, USA. Offering the perky blonde barista the best "come-hither" smile he could muster at the moment, he said, "I'll have two of your extra extra large Dark Roast. The stronger, the better."

The blonde offered a sultry rose-lipped smile in return. "Should I leave room at the top for cream?"

"Nah." Dean placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward slightly. "I'm a straight, high-octane kinda guy."

The barista's smile widened. "I just bet you are." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "Can I get you anything else?"

Dean was about to say no when his eyes suddenly caught sight of the date on the calendar behind the girl. _Huh. January 24—my birthday._ "Uhh…don't suppose you have any pie here?" His eyes quickly scanned the glass case to his left.

"Huh uh, sorry. We only have cupcakes, brownies, and biscotti."

The hunter's gaze homed in on the array of cupcakes with their brightly-colored swirls and peaks of frosting. "Gimme two of those cupcakes."

"Chocolate, vanilla, or marble?"

"Marble, I guess." If his brother was still with him, Dean thought with a pang, he would've ordered one of each—chocolate for Sam and vanilla for him and then they would've argued—as they liked to do— about which was the better flavor and why.

Dean pulled his wallet out as she gathered the coffee, boxed the cupcakes, and sat them all on the counter in front of him. After paying for the items, Dean gathered everything up and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving one disappointed barista pining behind the counter.

The blast of polar air smacked Dean hard in the face when he opened the door to the shop. By the time he reached the Impala, the cold had already started to burrow down to his bones. He gratefully sank into the confines of the car and started her up, relishing the heat that poured from the vents. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't fit for man nor beast outside right now. And while the idea of holing up in a warm motel room during this prolonged cold snap was alluring, Dean couldn't bring himself to do so. He decided that keeping busy—finding a hunt—doing anything would be a more optimal scenario until he heard from Crowley.

Pulling back the tab on the lid of the first coffee, he raised it to his mouth and downed a long sip, wincing as the hot liquid burned across his tongue—a casualty of his hastiness. Carefully settling the cup between his knees, Dean grabbed one of the cupcakes and took a bite—chewing and savoring the sweet treat while weighing its merits. He shrugged. It wasn't as good as pie—but then again what was, right? Dean demolished the rest in a few big bites, hunger overcoming what little decorum he may have had. He licked leftover frosting from his fingers then rubbed them against his thighs. Pulling another sip of coffee, Dean contemplated the second cupcake. Finally shaking his head, he closed the cardboard lid, ultimately deciding to save it for some time later—when he eventually stopped to crash somewhere. It would give him something to look forward to besides a hot shower and a soapy hand.

Backing out of the parking space, Dean pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Pulling up his call list, he selected the first name—Sam. Staring at the tiny screen, he let his thumb hover for a split second over the call button. _Nah. What does it matter anyway?_ Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. Throwing the car into drive, Dean turned on the windshield wipers to combat the steady fall of snow that had just begun. His foot stomped against the gas pedal.

_Happy Birthday to me._

_**FIN**_


End file.
